"No. Do please tell me," Marigold requested, in accents of deep concern.
"'Tis a very sad story, miss. Someone who read about it in the newspaper told me of it first of all, whilst I was at Plymouth, and then, when I came back to Exeter, I met a friend who was at Exmouth at the time, and knew all about the accident. It seems Mr. and Mrs. Adams and their five children were in lodgings at Exmouth for change of air, and one day master—I mean Mr. Adams—took the four children out mackerel fishing. Mrs. Adams stayed at home with Master Jo, who was a little chap about two years old, I should think, then. Well, miss, it was a fine day, but breezy, and—no one ever knew how it happened—the sailing boat capsized, and master, and the children, and the boatmen were all drowned. The boat was found afterwards bottom upwards, and next tide all the poor dead bodies were washed ashore."
"Oh, how sad, how terribly, terribly sad!" cried Marigold, the tears rolling down her cheeks. "Oh, I wonder it did not kill poor Mrs. Adams!"
The old woman shook her head sorrowfully as she continued—
"The shock would have killed some women, but she was not one of the sort to lie down and die. Besides, she had little Master Jo left to live and care for; and they tell me those two are all in all to each other. I have seen him many times, and often I've been tempted to stop him and ask after his mother, for he has a gentle face, although he is such a big man!"
"He is one of the kindest men I ever met," Marigold declared, with conviction in her tones; and she proceeded to give Mrs. Barker an account of her journey from Paddington to Exeter, when she had been so sad after parting from her mother, and Farmer Jo had proved himself such a cheering companion.
"Ah, he's like his father, I take it," the old woman said. "I never met a happier couple than Mr. and Mrs. Adams, and to think he should have been taken from her like that, and all those dear children too! The ways of God are mysterious, and it must have been a sore trial to her faith when He laid such affliction upon her."
"Yes," Marigold agreed. "I wonder she could ever feel happy again, and yet, do you know, Mrs. Barker, she has such a bright face!"
"Has she, miss? Ah, you may depend upon it, she has learnt to say, 'Thy will be done.'"
Marigold looked thoughtful. The story she had heard from Mrs. Barker's lips had impressed her deeply, and she was somewhat silent during the remainder of the visit. She had stepped along lightheartedly by Barker's side in the afternoon, but on their return journey she walked soberly and sedately, with an expression of unusual gravity on her face.